“How’d they get on the ceiling?” Chauncey asked.
“I accidentally reversed gravity when I was trying to measure butter.”
“Oh,” Chauncey said. “That makes sense. I bet that happens to a lot of people because cooking is hard.”
Theodore chirped loudly, and Sal said, “Theodore’s right. We should take responsibility for the mess we’ve made.”
“You didn’t make any mess,” Talia said. “Lucy did. And so did I because it’s not fair that he gets to smash all the eggs.”
“I didn’t. I tried to let you do one, and you threw it against the wall!”
“No,” Sal said. “We’re in this together.”
“Yeah,” Chauncey said. “Let’s all get grounded. Who’s with me? Why is no one raising their tentacles?”
Theodore clicked in his throat twice, followed by a low growl, and the children burst into laughter. “Yeah, Linus would do that, wouldn’t he?” Phee said. “I bet his face would turn red too.”
Linus huffed quietly. “Well, I never.”
“Your face is a little flushed,” Arthur whispered. “Are you ill, dear Linus?”
“They think they’re funny because of you.”
“Phee,” Sal said, “you distract them until we’re ready. Everyone else, let’s clean up as best we can. The quicker we work, the sooner we’ll be done.”
Phee slipped through the double doors, smiling widely. “Hello!” she said as if they hadn’t heard every single word. “Thank you for your patience. It’s appreciated.”
“Wonderful,” Arthur said. “Shall we go into the kitchen right this very second?”
“Uh,” Phee said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Not … yet? Oh! I just remembered. Linus, I wanted to ask you something very, very important. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last minute or so.”
“We await with bated breath,” Arthur said.
“Right,” Phee said. “So. Um.” She winced when something fell to the floor in the kitchen. Before Arthur could comment on it, Phee blurted (quite loudly), “Your organs!”
Linus groaned. “This again? How many times do I need to tell Talia that no matter what she says, I won’t sign a ‘do not resuscitate’ while also granting permission for her to harvest my liver, kidney, and lungs. I don’t know where she got the idea my organs would help her roses, but they won’t.”
“That’s what I told her,” Phee said. “And then I reminded her that it was only a matter of time, so. Win-win!”
Arthur lowered his voice. “We heard you talking to Chauncey.”
Phee fidgeted uncomfortably. Out of all the children, Phee was the biggest enigma. She loved her brothers and sisters and supported them completely. Arthur knew her to be compassionate, kind, and more than a little prickly. That being said, she still struggled with being complimented, or having attention placed upon her. It was a tricky line to walk with her: lay it on too thick, and she’d shut down, waving it off and changing the subject. He’d made it his mission to tell her at least once a day how proud he was of her.
“It’s not a big deal. Chauncey needed someone to talk to, and I was right there. Anyone would have done the same.” She shrugged, averting her gaze.
“Perhaps,” Arthur said. “But Chauncey didn’t come to me with it. He did not come to Linus, nor any of the others. He came to you, Phee. He trusts you with his happiness, but also with his troubles.”
“He shouldn’t have troubles,” Phee retorted. “I thought things were supposed to be better. You said they would be.” She deflated before they could reply. “Sorry,” she muttered. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s absolutely fair,” Linus said, “we did tell you that. And I wish I had a better answer for you other than that these things take time. I’m sorry.” He took her hand in his.
Phee looked back up at Linus, and Arthur was struck by the softness in her eyes, a chink in her formidable armor. Every now and then, she’d grace them with a peek of the girl underneath, and he treasured these moments as much as Theodore did his buttons. “Thanks, Linus. You’re all right.”
He squeezed her hand. “Anything for you. Now, are we going to see the kitchen, or are you—”
But before he could finish, Lucy yelled in unfettered joy, “You can breathe fire? Holy crap, Theodore! Let’s burn everything!”
“And that’s our cue,” Arthur said.
“This is what happens when you sleep late,” Linus muttered. “Just when you think you’re getting extra rest, someone breathes fire.”
TWO
Arthur pushed through the kitchen doors so quickly they bounced off the walls. The conversation ceased immediately as everyone froze.
First, there was Lucy, dragging a chair across the kitchen, his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration. His eyes were ringed with red (as they often were when he was doing something that might be dangerous), the cowlicks on either side of his head giving the appearance of black horns made of hair. He wore a frilly pink apron over his frayed plaid shorts and billowing white shirt.
Then there was Talia, a short, squat garden gnome holding at least a dozen eggs. Her white, luxurious beard rested on her chest, the end curled into a little loop. Atop her head, a pointy red cap, the end of which crooked to the left, a tuft of her white hair curling out onto her forehead. She wore a blue vest with a black belt around her waist, and brown trousers with black work boots that rose to her knees, spotted with what appeared to be yolk. Her exposed skin—face and hands—was tanned, evidence of the hours she spent out in the garden. Her cherry-red lips turned into an O as her blue eyes narrowed.
Next was Sal, their resident shifter, who could turn from a boy into a tiny, fluffy dog in the blink of an eye. At fifteen, Sal was the oldest child on the island, the one the other children looked up to. Coming into his own, the once quiet boy had begun using his voice more and more, an extension of the words he put on a page that never failed to enchant whoever was lucky enough to read them. He was tall—as tall as Linus now, much to their chagrin—and while obviously a teenager (lamenting over spots on his nose and forehead, few though there were), he was an old soul, his dark eyes catching almost everything. He, too, wore shorts—tan—and a short-sleeved collared shirt—a warm yellow—with pearl snap buttons, complimenting his dark brown skin. His hair was longer these days, tightly coiled in a way Zoe had taught him how to manage.
Chauncey sat in a mop bucket on the floor near Sal, a soap bubble resting on top of his head between his eye stalks. Above him, sitting on the counter, a Machiavellian feline: Calliope, near the sink, tail swishing dangerously, licking batter off her right front paw, dismissive gaze trained on Arthur.
And Theodore, maw wide open, rows of sharp wyvern teeth on display. He stood on the floor, wings spread, head cocked back, smoke rising from his slitted nostrils. When he saw Arthur, his jaws snapped closed, and he swallowed down whatever had been about to come out. A moment later, he burped out a black cloud of smoke, frantically using his wings to try to make it dissipate in a poor attempt to hide the evidence.
“Uh,” Lucy said. “I can explain?”
“Can you?” Arthur said mildly as Phee and Linus crowded behind him. “Because it sounds as if you’re trying to get Theodore to start fires.”
